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graphophobiac · 1 year

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WHUMPTOBER DAY THREE - Rip Out My Spine

Solitary confinement

A/N: This is a day late, but this just means today is a double post day ! This piece gave me some trouble because I was very tired yesterday. But I finished it and here we are !!

TW: THIS FIC INCLUDES SELF HARM

They didn’t know what they did wrong. They never did. Oftentimes the reason they were punished wasn’t even their fault to begin with. Oftentimes it felt like they were put in situations just so that they could be punished for it. But they still knew they deserved it. Sometimes they wondered if they would be punished for breathing wrong; although not with those specific words. Being an illiterate five year old did not making thinking in words easy, talking and listening were even harder.

And that brings them to why they were being punished. They weren’t following instructions and it was their fault that they couldn’t understand what was being asked of them. All they heard was noise, not words and sentences with structures and questions. And that was their fault, their fault for not learning fast enough when they were well past the age they should have learned to talk. And they could make sounds. But they had no words to make those sounds make sense.

So here they were, cowering with their arms over their head while they were being screamed at, unable to understand a word that was being shrieked to them. The woman’s voice was shrill and hurt their ears, her face was red with how frustrated at them they were. She was angry and when someone was angry that meant they were going to get hurt. They never could predict what it would be, but so often did they think their life was going to end, even if they didn’t understand what dying meant. They were scared regardless and didn’t want to hurt again.

Eventually, the woman reached out and grabbed their wrist, digging her razor sharp nails into their pale, fragile skin, easily drawing blood as she began to drag them along with her to who knows where. She was mumbling under her breath, like it would make any sense to them. It didn’t. It never did. Nothing ever made sense. Things were so much simpler when they were on the streets; it was cold, they were hungry but it was simple. There were simple problems, hunger, and simple solutions, steal - though quite often they got caught as five year olds didn’t tend to have the finesse of a seasoned criminal. The only thing that gave them any sort of edge was their wings; they were small and full of fluffy down feathers so by no means could they fly yet. But flapping them made them run just a tiny bit faster. Or at the very least it felt like it did. And sometimes there were kind people who would buy them a warm meal or give them water! People were kind outside sometimes! Here nothing made sense and no one was ever kind. Not to them. Especially never to them.

they were being taken down an unfamiliar hallway; of course, it was hard to tell when every room in this god damn place looked the same, but the route was different to anywhere they had been taken before. The winding, sterile halls were mind numbing, but this was different. Where were they being taken? Where where where?

They eventually got their answer when all of a sudden the woman came to a stop in front of a door. A large metal door. There were more people now, people they couldn’t recognise. the woman was making noises back and forth with them. Less banshee-like and more cat hissing. Oh no, they had been especially bad if they were getting a new punishment. Their body still ached from the last one and dark bruises littered their body, covered by their thin clothing.

The door was opened in one swift motion by one of them men that had joined their side and they were unceremoniously picked up and thrown inside of the room with a resounding smack onto hard concrete. They cried out, pain shooting through their back, their wings twisted and crushed beneath their body upon impact. They scrambled up onto their knees, eyes wide and filling with tears.

None of the adults spoke once they were inside the room. It was cold and dark; the only light was what was streaming in from the doorway. There were no windows, the walls were unpainted concrete. They didn’t want to be here. They got to their feet before trying to run out, only to be shoved back down by the same man that had opened the door. He opened his mouth, but again what he said made no sense to them. Those people never seemed to realise they simply could not understand them, even if it was so startlingly obvious. They had no patience for developmentally behind children it seemed, so instead of trying to help they were punished for not following orders even when they didn’t know they were being asked to do something, let alone what it was.

They were on their back like an upturned turtle, a cry escaping them as the door was slammed shut and darkness coated their vision. They couldn’t even see their hand or any of their body. All they could see was pitch blackness forever. But it didn’t go on forever, did it? They could see walls before the door was closed. Where was the door? Could they open the door? They didn’t hear a click that they knew meant it was locked. But where was the door?

They stumbled to their feet, straining and widening their eyes and reaching out, waving their arms as they walked back and forth, trying to find the walls, or the door. They wanted out. Out, out, let them out.

They couldn’t find the walls. Did they even exist? Did the darkness go on forever? What did forever even mean? They didn’t know. They didn’t know anything. No one taught them. They were just expected to somehow know. Like how they were supposed to know how to speak, or the “alphabet”, or to respond to instructions, or to understand said instructions.

They sat back down on the floor. They knew that was there, they could feel it beneath their feet. The floor was real, at least. They could touch it, press their face against it, curl up on it into a tiny little ball. Maybe if they closed their eyes and went to sleep, when they woke up this would be over. They had tried that before when they had been left alone in pain. When they woke up the pain always remained. But… this was different. They weren’t being hit. They were just… Alone…? It was weird. It was quiet and dark and they did not like it.

Did they even close their eyes? They couldn’t tell. It was dark either way. Their eyes hurt. They felt dry.

Blink.

Their eyes hurt less. The darkness of their eyelids felt less scary than the darkness of the room. They could control that darkness. They could hide behind it and pretend they were in their little room, on their stiff bed. The concrete actually didn’t feel too different from the bed. Yeah. They were just in their cramped room. Not in the weird dark room. They were fine. They weren’t in trouble. Soon enough someone would be coming to take them to those weird lessons that didn’t make any sense and they didn’t learn anything from.

𓆰

… They were still in the dark, quiet room. No one was coming to take them out.

How long had it been? Minutes? Days? Hours? Weeks?

Time was a concept they only understood instinctively; ways of measuring it were beyond them. They definitely didn’t have the words to describe lengths of time (like they had any understandable words to begin with). It felt like forever. Infinity. Darkness stretching on and on and on. There were no walls, no doors, no escape.

Their stomach hurt and their mouth was dry; no one had come to give them food or water. Or, well, they hadn’t seen anyone do that. Once a small bowl of rice and a cup of water were on the floor. They only realised it was there when they stepped on the bowl while trying to find the edges of this little infinite void they were stuck in. The rice tasted of nothing but they ate it all regardless and they gulped the water down as soon as they realised it was there.

But that had been forever ago. And they were hungry and thirsty again. And the food and water only appeared when the thirst had felt unbearable and their head pounded unbearably and their stomach left them in agony. Their only distraction was trying and failing to find the walls that they swore existed.

𓆰

Their wings were itchy. It was an itch that wouldn’t go away no matter how much they scratched with their jagged nails, even as blood covered their hands and they accidentally yanked out their own feathers.

Yanked out their own feathers?

Wait.

That felt… good. It felt better. It distracted them from the nothing surrounding them. It distracted them from the mindless panic that swirled their thoughts.

Off, get them off, get them off.

𓆰

It started to hurt.

They were running out of feathers to pluck and their wings were in agony. Dried blood stuck to their hands, the floor, their clothes, their back. Everywhere. Iron was all they could smell but it was something. It was better than the tasteless rice or the darkness. The only bad thing was that it was sticky. The blood stuck to their hands and they couldn’t get it off, they couldn’t it wouldn’t come off.

Their wings were cold.

That was something new.

𓆰

They didn’t like the cold or the iron anymore. It was bad. Bad bad bad. It hurt. They had no more feathers to pluck. All gone. All gone. Gone gone gone.

They curled up on the floor, shivering, too dehydrated to cry, their throat too raw to make a sound.

They never realised they had been screaming. They never realised they made any sounds at all. But their throat hurt like they had been the whole time.

The cold sank deep into their bones. Their blood was cold. Their heart was slow. Were they dying? Was this what dying felt like?

𓆰

The door opened. The door and walls existed again.

They flinched violently as the metal door swung open once more, crashing into the concrete wall. Suddenly they were real again. Real real real real. They looked around, eyes wide, head darting back and forth. The light blinded them and their pupils contracted to tiny pinpricks. They could see but couldn’t at the same time. Bright. Too bright. They wanted the dark again they wanted it back back give it back.

Hands wrapped around their arms and hauled them to their feet. They squirmed, the touch burning burning their frigid skin. They were dragged out of the safety of the dark, quiet room and back into the bright, loud world. Their ears rang as words that now made even less sense were spoken. It was garbled and too loud.

Their legs didn’t work, They were dragged along by the men holding them, their feet limp across the ground. Where were they being taken now? Back to their room? But it wasn’t the dark, quiet room. The dark, quiet room was safe. Nowhere else was safe. Nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere was safe. They wanted to be nowhere again. They didn’t recognise the halls anymore, they didn’t know where their room was and they didn’t know where the nowhere was. Back, back take them back.

They wanted to go back.

#whumptober2023 #no. 3 #solitary confinement #original content #OC #whumptober #self harm #writing #creative writing #fic

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graphophobiac · 1 year

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WHUMPTOBER DAY TWO - Being With You Is Better Than Being Alone

“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back” | Thermometer | Delirium | “They don’t care about you” | ALT 9: Drugging

A/N: Good day !! I wrote the second half of this fic in the span of two fifteen minute sprints!

TW: THIS FIC INCLUDES DRUGGING (AS PER THE PROMPT) AS WELL AS IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT AND NON CONSENSUAL KISSING/TOUCHING

It was quick and almost painless, unnoticeable if Cecilia hadn’t already been acutely aware of Emrys’s approach. She had spent too much time in the past memorising his footsteps to have anti uncertainty that it was him. What she hadn’t been aware of was the needle in his hand or his intent for it. That had been her mistake. Before she could even think he had pricked her exposed arm - what a bad day to wear a t-shirt. Maybe wearing a shirt with a longer sleeve would have saved her.

The effect was instant. Her thoughts began… to…slow. Her heart began to race, thump thump thump thumps pulsed in her head and shivers rocketed through her body. She tried to run, gods did she try, but he was faster. He grabbed her arm and pulled her firmly against his chest, clamping his hand over her mouth. She bit his hand, her fangs sinking into his skin. He yelled in pain, yanking his hand away and for a moment she was tempted to try and tear the flesh off. But she felt weaker and weaker by the second, there was no way she could take Emrys in a fight when whatever it was he had drugged her with was seeping into her bloodstream. Curse him.

“QUIN- t..en..” Her shout was cut off as soon as it started, trailing off into a choked wheeze as Emrys grabbed her neck and squeezed. His fingers wrapped tightly around her throat as he dragged her along with him, tripping, stumbling and only kept upright by his touch, his hands on her body, choking her, groping her again. Quinten promised Emrys couldn’t hurt her again. He promised. He promised her he would protect her. But he wasn’t here. He couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t see his stupid blond head or his stupid black wings. He. Wasn’t. There.

Her head was stuffed full of cotton and throbbing, and her limbs were weighed down like useless sandbags. She was a rag doll, easily pulled along by Emrys’s whims. He grinned down at her the next time she stumbled, her knees buckling which prompted him to pick her up and sweep her off her feet.

“Aw… Falling for me, are you?” He asked, the honey-like tone making Cecilia want to throw up. She hated it. She hated him.

“Put.. me.. down…” Cecilia hissed, but the slur in her voice made it hard to sound menacing. Emrys clearly found this hilarious and threw his head back and laughed, he was laughing at her.

“Hmm.. I don’t think I will.” Ever the violator of consent, Emrys cared not for what Cecilia wanted, only for his own needs and satisfying them. He never had been above hurting her. Not if it meant getting what he wanted. Especially then.

She squirmed. It was a useless endeavour. But she wasn’t just going to let him do this to her, even as exhaustion gripped every part of her body and her mind was screaming at her to just submit and let it happen. It’s easier that way. It hurts less. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She was going to let it be known she wanted absolutely no part in this. Of course, he knew that. Cecilia wondered if he got off on forcing her to submit to his whims.

Before she knew it they had made it to Emrys’s room, somewhere she had sworn to herself that she would never step foot in again. At least not willingly. Being drugged and dragged into this hellscape was not on her bingo card for Emrys’s anticts. Maybe it should have been; it wasn’t the first time he had utilised elicit sustances. With surprising tenderness, he laid her down on his bed, of course not with out dragging his hand across her chest in a way that made Cecilia try and murder him with her eyes. If looks could kill, he would be a pile of flesh on the floor in front of her. If she could, she would remove each of his fingers, snap each individual bone before cutting them off and leaving him to bleed out. But instead, all she could do was imagine that with surprising vividness while her own body weighed her down into the extremely uncomfortable bed that she unfortunately knew all too well.

She closed her eyes, willing herself into unconscious in the hopes that she could sleep through whatever Emrys intended to do with her body. That was the most mercy she could offer herself, but even that was too much to ask for and Emrys grabbed her face harsh enough that she opened her eyes again before she could even process how close his face was to hers.

(Please don’t kiss me please don’t kiss me please don’t don’t DON’T.)

Her silent begging went unanswered as he slammed his lips onto hers with such force that her head knocked back against the headboard. The ensuing pain drew a gasp from Cecilia, giving Emrys just the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and force his tongue into her mouth. Cecilia wanted to be sick, and she briefly considered the possibility of throwing up right into his mouth. Maybe that would be disgusting enough for him to give up on her. Maybe. The fact that it wasn’t even a guarantee made her stomach churn. If only her body didn’t feel so heavy… Then maybe she could scratch his eyes out, or at least push him off of her. Imagining these scenarios only proved to make her feel more helpless, though it was better than focusing on the fact that he was kissing her.

(She thought she had forgotten how his lips felt on hers.

How could she ever forget?

How could she forget the feeling of being forced to-)

He pulled away finally and Cecilia gasped weakly for breath, her lungs burning like she had been drowning and pulled up from underwater. Emrys merely smirked at her.

“Bet that feels so much better than that prick kisses you, huh?” Emrys said and he couldn’t have been more wrong. Quinten was gentle and at the very least asked for her consent before kissing her. Emrys just took and took and took. He took what he wanted and never took no for an answer; at least not from Cecilia. “No” was unacceptable in his eyes when his pleasure was in the question. Fuck what the other person wanted, even if that was to be as far away from him as humanly possible. And humanly possible was nowhere near enough to keep him away. It never was and never would be. She knew that now and suffered the consequences of thinking that breaking up with the bastard was enough to get him to leave her alone.

How silly.

“He doesn’t care about you like I do. He doesn’t love you like I do.” Love? Love? Emrys loved her? Was that some kind of JOKE?

THIS

WAS

NOT

LOVE.

IT WASN’T IT NEVER WAS HOW COULD HE POSSIBLY EVER SAY THAT?

“Oh I love you so much, Cecilia… You’re mine and that bastard poisoned your mind with promises of true love. But he’s wrong.” Emrys cooed, his lips brushing against her ears. Stop it. Please. Stop. She wanted to be left alone.

“My poor love.. You look so ill..” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. What? Why… Why was he being gentle? Why did he care? He’s the reason she feels like this! He drugged her for gods sake!!

“I’m sorry, I only did this to you so you would listen… You wouldn’t let me near you so I had to take drastic measures. But you’re here now! And I can take care of you like he wouldn’t.”

Quinten didn’t come when she called for him. But he couldn’t hear her. But what if he could and just ignored her? What if… Emrys was right? But he couldn’t be… He.. He was an abuser, he abused her. He was abusing her!

But he was the first person that showed her love. He was the first person that desired her and wanted her body.

But she didn’t want him anymore. He was bad for her.

What if she was bad for Quinten? Maybe she deserved this for being as awful. Maybe she was destined to ruin that wonderful man the same way Emrys ruined her.

Or… maybe Emrys was right and what Quinten was showing her wasn’t love, that love wasn’t tender and gentle but rough and painful. Or maybe the painful love was just the kind of love she deserved.

… When did Emrys get a thermometer? Cecilia didn’t even know he had one. It was one of those thermometers that looked like a gun and it scanned the forehead to get the temperature. He reached up and pushed back her sweat coated red hair, tutting softly as he angled the thermometer to take her temperature. Why?

“Ah.. Just as I thought, you’re running a fever.” He said, setting the thermometer aside. “Not to worry, I’ll be here to make it all better.”

She never liked his way of “making things better”. Usually it involved replacing one discomfort with one much more uncomfortable experience. But she deserved that, didn’t she? The best she could ask for was a distraction from the pain.

Later she could think about how disgusting she felt as he dragged his hands up her side. Later she could think about how much she hated him touching her. Later she could wonder about what Quinten would think. Later later later. Right now she was nowhere, nothing was happening to her and nothing was going to happen to her.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #alt. 9 #lyric #delirium #“they don't care about you”#thermometer #drugging #originalcontent #OC #Sexual assault #writing #whumptober #fic

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graphophobiac · 1 year

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WHUMPTOBER DAY 1 - Stay Afloat

“But now this room is spinning while I’m just trying to fill in all the gaps” | Safety net | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

A/N: Hello everybody! This is my first time participating and this is my first entry of this month! Lets see how committed I am to this!!

Spinning. The room was spinning, spinning, spinning. Nausea bubbled in the back of her throat as she stumbled to her knees. The world faded rapidly in and out of focus, darkness creeping in around her vision as she tried to reach for mental purchase; anything to bring her out of the spinning teacup ride that was her vision right now.

Her ears rang, drowning out any other sounds around her and gods it hurt. She clamped her hands over her fox-like ears, but that only proved to intensify the ringing, like a needle was pushing through her eardrums directly into her brain, digging and digging, lobotomising her and irreparably changing who she was down to the fundamentals.

(Stop, stop, make it stop.

Too far. Her body was pushed too far.)

She felt like she was on fire yet hypothermic at the same time. Her insides felt like ice but her skin was burning burning burning. Her whole body shook so hard and she couldn’t breathe she wasn’t breathing. What was her name she couldn’t remember her name what what what she didn’t know her name how could she forget her own name-

(Distantly, she was aware of the figure kneeling in front of her, his face tight with worry. Her wide, glazed over blue eyes staring into his own green pair.

“Oh gods, Hoshi..” The figure whispered, reaching his hands just over her own, but not making contact yet. She couldn’t hear him.)

Was she dead? Is this what death felt like? Was her heart still beating? It didn’t feel like it. Her heart was tight and immobile, yet she still breathed - short gasps of air shooting into her lungs and leaving even faster. Why? Her body didn’t need oxygen if there was no beating heart to pump blood around. Why why why why why-

Warmth. Comforting, not burning, warmth bloomed around her hands.

(Danger? No danger.

Safe? No.

What?)

Her vision cleared a little, but just enough for her to see the figure, the man before her. To see his kind face and remember his name.

Hiroyuki.

(Where was her name? Where where where did it go? She can’t remember where she lost her name.)

She wheezed his name, and only now did she realise her vision had been obscured by her own tears. She could taste the salt. Her throat was dry. It hurt. Had she been sobbing? Screaming, maybe?

“Hey there, Kitkat..” Hiroyuki whispered, gently squeezing her hands and prompting another flood of soft, safe warmth cover her.

(Kitkat? Not name. No. Nickname? Yes. But not name.)

The warmth lessened as Hiroyuki lifted his hand in front of her face, not too close. But she could see his hand through the tear-filled blur.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

That question was lost on her. How many? How many? Number? Don’t know. Help? Right answer?

(Hiroyuki frowned as Hoshi’s eyes rapidly flittered between the two digits he held up. He lowered his hand back onto her own.)

Oh. Hand gone. Gone? Warm again. Hold? Yes! Hand hold! Safe and warm? Warm! Warm safe!

“...Can you tell me five things you can see?” Hiroyuki asked slowly, Hoshi’s gaze snapping up to him as she listened.

(See? Can see. What can see? Oh! Can.. tell? No. No talk. No.)

Hoshi removed one of her hands from his grasp and pointed towards Hiroyuki’s face. Surprise lit up his face before a small chuckle escaped him.

“Me, yes, that’s one.”

She pointed to the walls, the floor, his shoes and their joined hands. He smiled warmly. It made her chest feel warm. Less cold. No more cold.

“How about.. four things you can touch?” Was his next request. Easy! Already touching! She wiggled her other hand that was clasped between his and again he laughed. She patted the floor, her shirt and her hair. His smile widened and he praised her;

“You’re doing so good. Now, three things you can hear?” She pointed to him again, then slapped the floor, making a sound louder than she expected, causing her to jump. And she pointed to her ears. The ringing had quietened, but was not gone. But she could at least hear Hiroyuki. His voice was nice.

“Two things you can smell?” Smell? The question prompted her to take a slow, deep breath in through her nose - she wasn’t gasping anymore - when did she stop gasping? - and waved her hand around. She could smell the air. “And?” He prompted. Another thing? She shrugged, but he didn’t frown. He simply nodded and moved along to his final request.

“One more thing, can you tell me one thing you can taste?”

(The taste of iron stuck to the back of her throat, long forgotten nausea returning with a momentary vengeance. Wrong. Icky. No.)

She shook her head in the negative. She couldn’t answer the question. But he… wasn’t mad? It was okay? She was okay?

“That’s okay, Hoshi… You did so well…” He said, tugging her into his arms and allowing her to lean against his chest. And the fog in her mind lifted, not completely, but enough. She was safe. It was okay. She didn’t have to be scared when she was tucked away in Hiroyuki’s arms. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

(Name name name. That’s her name. She remembered now. Hoshi.)

#whumptober2023 #no. 1 #lyric #Safety net #“How many fingers am I holding up?”#OC #fic #whumptober #original #original character #dissociation

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